


Presenting

by rachhell



Category: South Park
Genre: Adoption, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beta/Beta, Bullying, Deception, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake Pregnancy, Family Drama, Growing Up, Humor? Maybe?, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex Education, Trash Fic, richard tweak is a fucking creep, tweek tweak: human disaster, yaoi art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-25 08:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14374866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachhell/pseuds/rachhell
Summary: Since he was a small child, it was promised that Tweek Tweak would take over the family business as soon as he produces an heir of his own. Unbeknownst to his father, that is a biological impossibility: He and his partner are both Betas. In order to secure their future together, Craig and Tweek must maintain the illusion of a bonded Alpha/Omega pair, or risk losing everything.





	Presenting

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to my first multichapter, self-indulgent GARBAGE FIC. what possessed me to write an a/b/o? who knows! is it really an a/b/o since craig and tweek are both betas? heck yeah it is.
> 
> nothing explicit yet, rating is for future smut and nothing like that will happen until they're older, but this story will explore mature themes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek suffers through a terrible sexual education class. Things aren't any better at home.

In the grand scheme of things, there was nothing that separated today from any other. The usual din of clinking silverware, tittered laughter and conversation reverberated throughout the lunchroom, and the table of fifth-grade boys sat in their usual formation, minus Jimmy, Clyde, and Token, who were relegated to in-lunch-suspension in PC Principal’s office. Craig and Tweek, by all accounts, should have been there too, since they were present for the egging of Mr. Adler’s car, but everyone knew why they got a free pass.

What hung in the air and made this particular Thursday afternoon different from others was nervous, awkward anticipation, because today wasn’t a typical Thursday, where they would study spelling after lunch.

Today was sexual education day.

“I heard that the Omega pees into the Alpha’s mouth, and then the Alpha takes the pee and then spits it in the Omega’s butthole and that’s how they get pregnant,” Eric Cartman said, muffled through a mouthful of his sandwich.

At mention of the word _pee,_ Kyle scooted his lunch tray away from him with a huff, and, save for Craig who rolled his eyes but continued chewing on his chicken patty, the rest of the boys reacted accordingly, with scoffs and _eww’s_ and noisy twitches.

“Sounds like a bunch of bullshit,” Craig said, “That’d take way too much effort.”

Cartman sighed, and his voice rose to a condescending croon, like he was talking to a child. “Craig, you don’t know _shit._ You see, the pheromones in the pee make it so that it has to be ingested through your mouth, like soda.”

“That makes zero sense,” Craig replied.

It wasn’t as if they didn’t have an idea, or, in the case of those with older siblings (although, even then, it was a fifty-fifty chance said siblings were either fucking with them, or didn’t know shit themselves), those whose parents had already given them the talk, or those whose thirst for knowledge trumped waiting, didn’t _know_. Even for those kids, something about learning in a classroom setting made it unavoidably official, like one chapter of their life was closing and another unfolding before them.

“Cartman, what the fuck, dude, that’s sick!” Stan said, choking down a swig of Dr. Pepper as if it suddenly tasted foul. “The Alpha just pees in the Omega’s butt. That’s how it happens, Shelly told me about it.”

“You guys are disgusting,” said Kyle, “My mom said they just had me the normal way.”

“What does that even mean, dude?” Stan asked. They knew there were variations on conception, however shrouded in mystery they may have been. From their limited knowledge, there was no such thing as a “normal way.”

“Something about putting your thingy in a woman’s thingy and then you squirt white stuff in there. I don’t know, dude, I don’t like thinking about this!” Kyle’s face lit up a burning pink as he pushed around what was left of his pea and carrot mix with his fork, appetite forgotten.

“See, told you it's pee,” said Cartman, gloating, as if it were obvious.

Kyle glowered at him. “Is your pee white, Cartman? You should get that checked out.”

“Ey! Don’t ask me about my pee, Kahl!”

“Wait, so, how do dudes get pregnant, then?” asked Stan.

“I fucking _told_ you, they pee in the mouth, and then they put the mouth on the butt-”

“Nnnghhhhshut up!” Tweek banged his hands upon the table, interrupting Cartman and causing all of their lunch trays to shake. It was nothing new for Tweek to freak out, of course, but his nostrils were flared, his face red and eyes steely cold - Tweek wasn’t just freaking out, he was honest-to-God _pissed._ “Just, just shut the _fuck_ up, Cartman, nnnf, you don’t know what the f-fuck you're talking about,” he shrieked.

“Hey, calm down,” Craig said, slowly, with a hard smile, trying to hide his obvious irritation at everybody around him, including his boyfriend. He reached out to pat Tweek on the back, only to find the other boy’s shoulders stiffen under his touch, shrugging him off.

Cartman, on the other hand, bore a broad, toothy smile, his eyes narrowing to little slits in only the way Eric Cartman’s could when he was about to say something particularly evil. “You know what I think? I think Tweek’s just scared about his future,” he drawled, “Look at him. Little Omega bitch boy if I’ve ever seen one.”

 _“Aagh!”_ Tweek twisted his fingers in his hair, screwing his eyes shut with a particularly violent twitch of his shoulders. “Fuck you, man!”

“Yeah, fuck you,” Craig repeated, flatly. He patted Tweek on the back again. “There, there. Calm down, babe.”

“Cartman, shut the fuck up, you’re gonna be an Omega bitch boy,” Kyle scolded, shooting another glare at his friend.

“You _are_ an Omega bitch boy, Kahl!”

Kenny snorted under his parka. “Whatever, you’re both Omega bitch boys,” he chipped in. If anyone knew how it happened, it would probably be Kenny, but it seemed as if he was enjoying watching the scene around him unfold far more than he wanted to share his possible expertise with the rest of his gang.

“Shut up, _Kinny!”_

From the edge of the table, Butters finally spoke up. “Hey, Tweek, so do _you_ know how it happens or somethin’? My folks, well, they won’t tell me nothin’. Last time I asked, I got grounded.”

“Wa-aaaagh!” Tweek dropped his head on the table, shaking it back and forth, his fingers still tightly wound in his hair. “No, man, no, I don’t know about this, about this shit, what the, _agh_!”

Cartman sneered, with a little giggle. “Everybody knows Tweek and Craig are gonna have ass-babies. Tweek’s gonna pop out like seven puppies, and-”

With a wail, Tweek scrambled up from their table, knocking both Craig and Kenny in their shoulders as he spun himself around, and bolted. Children at other lunch tables reded him with a few turns of their heads and eye-rolls; it wasn’t a rare occurrence to witness Tweek Tweak causing a scene. He squealed something unintelligible at their lunch monitor, who sighed, shrugged, and allowed him to run off, the double doors of the cafeteria slamming shut behind him.

Craig, with a grunt, rose to his feet. “That’s enough, dick.” He glared daggers at Cartman, which only made him giggle in response. “See what you did, Cartman? Shut your fucking mouth.” Craig collected both their trays, strode over to the garbage cans to dump them, and, calmly, but with furrowed brow, exited the lunchroom, walking after Tweek.

“Weak,” Cartman intoned at Craig’s back.

The remaining five boys stared at each other in confusion, before Kenny shrugged and took a bite of his bologna sandwich, their cue to return to relative normalcy.

“You know, the Asian girls are already drawing it,” Kyle said, “Tweek and Craig are probably pretty annoyed with that, I bet that’s what’s wrong.”

“Yeah. They’ve been drawing them with a baby.” Stan nodded, gulping down the rest of his soda. “Wendy’s got one of Lisa’s pictures hanging above her desk. It’s pretty weird.”

Butters, who was anxiously picking apart his sandwich into little balls of dough, groaned. “So they’re out there makin’ people Alphas and Omegas just like they make people gay? Fellas, I don’t want an Asian girl makin’ me no Alpha,” he sighed, “Or no Omega, either. I can’t have a baby, I’ll get grounded!”

Kyle scoffed. “Dude, come on, I told you they don’t make anyone gay, yaoi is just-”

“You really think it’s just a coincidence that Tweek and Craig ended up gay? They’re totally making people gay,” said Stan, resolutely.

“Totally,” added Kenny.

This seemed to placate Butters a bit, his eyes lighting up. “Heh, so if I draw a picture of me suckin’ on Bebe’s boobies, I’m not gonna be gay?”

“Could work, but I think the Asian girls have to do it,” replied Stan.

“Yeah, Butters, you can’t draw it yourself.” Cartman cleared his throat, and adjusted his posture, sitting straight up, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the table. “Now, for small fee of, say, fifteen dollars I may be able to use my artistic abilities and whip up something for you.”

“Well, gee, Eric, that’d be great.”

“Oh my god.” With another heavy sigh, Kyle folded his napkin onto his lunch tray, having decided that he did not need to finish his meal “Butters, don’t pay him to draw art of you and Bebe, it isn’t going to work.”

Stan nodded in agreement. “Yeah, dude, Kyle’s right. Japan picks who they pick, my dad said.”

* * *

 

“All right, everyone calm the fuck down.”

Mr. Garrison’s fifth-grade class did not, in fact, need to calm down. The vast majority of the students were either staring at their desks, silent and blushing, or lost in thought, doodling absently in their notebooks or staring at the snowscape outside their classroom window.

The former President of the United States, back to teaching as if his disastrous quarter-term in the Oval Office never happened, flipped off the lights, and pulled a PowerPoint presentation up on his laptop. _Our Changing Bodies_ was emblazoned in hot pink upon a grey background on their projector screen. With a scowl, Garrison flipped through a few slides that looked as if they contained important information that the students shouldn’t miss, saying, “I’m not gonna talk about butt-babies or any of that Alpha and Omega shit because America thinks you’re too young so that’s how it’s gonna be.”

It was then that the classroom began to buzz with whispered conversations and rustlings of papers. Garrison, naturally, chose to overlook this, in favor of settling on a slide that read _Anatomy And You!_ , and glaring at the class with a look of bored annoyance.

“Now before anyone starts asking any stupid-ass questions, I’m allowed to tell you that Omegas can get pregnant if you’re a girl or a boy, Betas can get pregnant if you’re a girl, and Alphas can’t get pregnant and that’s it. _What_ , Butters?”

Butters lowered his hand, his face screwed up in concerned confusion. “I-if I tell the Asian girls I don’t wanna get no other boy pregnant, they’ll listen to me, right?”

The classroom stilled, students turning their heads to glance at the source of this outlandish question. Tweek, however, let out a low groan, and dropped his head onto his desk. The Asian girls had already caused him enough anguish, their art essentially forcing him out of the closet far too early. He’d thought that the drawings had come to a standstill, the town quickly growing tired of the novelty that was Tweek and Craig, but he’d heard talks around the school that they were at it again, latching onto the idea of he and Craig with a _baby?_ What the hell would they _do_ with a baby, he didn’t want one of _those,_ not yet, if ever. Could the art really _make_ it happen? He lightly banged his head against the faux-wood finish of his desktop, once, twice, three times, but nobody seemed to notice, except for Craig, who caught his glance from the other side of the room, with arched eyebrows and kind eyes.

Craig always had kind eyes to Tweek, if not to anyone else. At the very least, all of the bullshit he had to deal with last year brought him closer with his boyfriend, his _best_ friend. Tweek shot a small, forced smile in his direction, and lifted his head to rest in the heels of his hands. Not that he was going to pay attention - Tweek knew about a lot of this stuff already.

He wished he didn’t.

“...Okay.” Mr. Garrison cleared his throat, ignoring Butters’ query. “So. I’m only allowed to tell y’all about the penis and the vagina, because some asshole in the government said that’s all I can teach ‘til you’re in eighth grade. Anyway, all women have a vagina. All men have a penis and. Damn it, what do you want Wendy?”

Wendy, as always, had her pencil in hand, posed to take notes, and tossed her long hair over her shoulder before speaking. While in previous years she was nothing more than Know-It-All Wendy, there to make everyone else look stupid, most of the class (except, of course, Cartman) had stopped rolling their eyes when she had a question or quip at the ready because, since Mr. Garrison had resumed his position as their teacher, she was always the first one to call him out on his misinformation and bullshit.  “Weren’t you the one who approved that bill, Mr. Garrison? Before you got impeached?” she asked.

“Goddamn it, Wendy!” Garrison snapped.

“Children are reaching secondary sex maturity quicker than ever, so isn’t it important that we learn about it? And just because someone has a penis, it doesn’t mean-“

“Wendy, go to the principal’s office!”

Unfazed, she rose from her desk, head held high as she exited the room. After all, it was likely PC Principal would not only be on her side, but also deliver a better lesson than Garrison ever could, however drenched in inoffensive, inclusive buzzwords it may be.

“Heh heh,” sniggered Cartman, “Can never keep quiet, can you, Wendy?”

“Eric, can you shut your goddamn mouth for three minutes! Okay. So this-”

“Mr. Garrison?”

“What is it, Kyle,” he groaned, interrupted again.

“This is stupid, we aren’t learning anything we don’t already know.”

“He’s r-r-r. He’s ruuuuhhh… he’s correct,” said Jimmy.

“Timmy!” He was met with agreement from his best friend.

“All three of you can just go with her!”

“Oh shit, dude,” Stan said, while he watched his friends depart.

As the door shut behind them, Garrison smiled, smugly. “Anyway, as I was saying before those jackasses decided to interrupt, all women have a vagina, and all men have a penis. This,” he clicked to the next slide, “Is a penis.”

“Eeeeew!” squealed a couple of the girls. Upon the screen were three clinical illustrations of the male anatomy - one front-facing, another a labelled cross-section of all the parts. In the third, the drawing showed the penis sticking up, a bulbous knot surrounding the base of the shaft.

Tweek buried his head in his hands, face burning.

“And this,” drawled Garrison, spending no time on explaining anything about the penis, or on what that weird, perplexing third illustration depicted, and clicking again, where a similar diagram lit up the screen, “Is a vagina.”

“Nice,” Clyde Donovan hissed, holding out his hand for a low-high-five to Token, who did not accept the invitation, but regarded Clyde with calm, amused disdain.

“The parts are labeled, whatever, y’all aren’t gonna remember this shit anyway so who am I trying to fool.” Garrison sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently. “I’m supposed to tell the girls that you’re gonna bleed outta your snooch for a week every month unless you’re an Alpha but none of you girls are gonna be Alphas anyway, so who the hell cares, any questions ask your mom.”

“How do you know none of the girls are gonna be-”

Instead of acknowledging Isla’s question, Garrison simply talked louder.  “I’m supposed to tell the boys that y’all are gonna wake up with wet pants sometimes but that’s ok, ask your dad. And I’m supposed to tell all of you little idiots that in no circumstance should you put your pecker in a woman’s snooch or some Omega butthole, because you will get pregnant, and you’ll get herpes and AIDS, and die.”

It was then that Tweek’s head snapped up. “Herpes!?” _Die?_ He could die? Tweek didn’t want to die, he was only eleven. Why were there so many damn _diseases_ out there?

“Yes, Tweek, y’all are gonna get herpes if you do any of this shit before you get married,” answered Garrison, boredly.

“AIDS? Oh my god, man!” Tweek’s hands began to shake, and he dropped his pencil, invoking sniggers from Bill and Fosse, who mumbled something about being gay, something about _Tweek_ being gay and getting AIDS and dying, Tweek was _sure,_ they hated him, they were all _staring_ at him because he was the _gay kid_ and then he was going to fucking _die,_ and... “Gah!”

“All right, take out your English workbooks. Stan, go to the Principal’s office and get your stupid friends.”

* * *

 

By the time Tweek got home, he was mentally drained. Fuzzy, unclear thoughts of dying and illness and crying babies floated around his head for the rest of the school day, not to mention that Bill and Fosse had decided to make him their target, _again,_ latching onto his brief outburst during their sex-ed lesson - if it could even be _called_ that - snickering and whispering behind his back, flicking tiny, balled-up pieces of paper into his hair. It was only when they attempted to turn their tauntings to Craig, and he socked Fosse in the face for calling them faggots that they stopped. That almost made it _worse,_ because Tweek didn’t want Craig to have to save him for the rest of their lives.

What he wanted, the moment he walked into the door, was to flop down upon the sofa and play a game, to have some chips and maybe watch some TV and see what Craig was up to, and pretend he didn’t have any homework, and to try and forget about the events of that awkward Thursday at school. However, once he tossed his backpack down in the entryway, and saw his father perched at the head of the table, hands folded, face bearing that weird, stony half-smile that Richard always seemed to have before he roped Tweek into another strange conversation, and two steaming mugs, plus a carafe, of coffee sitting in front of him, he immediately knew all of his hopes for a stress-free, normal evening were wishful thinking.

“Hello, son.” Richard’s eerily calm voice beckoned Tweek to the table; no gestures were necessary. When his dad was like this, Tweek knew what he wanted - something akin to a business meeting, with his own son.

“Nnn, hey dad,” Tweek breathed, hesitantly crossing the living room. Of _course_ he thought about running upstairs and slamming his bedroom door and saying he was tired, but that would simply be postponing the inevitable. It’d be worse for his father to barge into his room while he was finally on the verge of much-needed sleep, and keep him up all night with some kind of meandering life- lesson; although, Tweek knew that he’d be up longer than he wanted, anyway, with that _fucking_ coffee.

He wanted to sleep tonight. He could never sleep.

“Heard about what you learned in school today. Take a seat, Tweek. I made you some coffee.” Richard nodded at the mug next to him, and took a long gulp from his own as Tweek sat. “I heard you kids learned about sexual intercourse today. Anything you want to share?”

 _No._ There was nothing he wanted to share. Nothing he wanted to talk about, not with his dad at least, but the words were coming out of his mouth before he could hold them back, hoping that, by some miracle, this distant man next to him could ease his anxiety. “Hnnngh, I’m gonna get herpes and die!” he screeched, trembling hands wrapping around his cup of coffee, “A-and! And then, AIDS, man, I’ll get AIDS! I gotta get married!”

Richard offered a tense, brief pat upon his back. “Oh, Tweek. Don’t you realize that those are lies propagated by big government? Like multinational coffee tycoons Harbucks, the government uses false statistics and flashy colors to sell their agenda.”

“Aaagh.” Tweek sipped his coffee, if only to keep it from spilling over the edge of the mug from his tremors. “The government? I don’t wanna think about the nnnngovernment!”

“You’re well aware this family has a long, rich heritage of male Omegas on my side. Rich, like the beans used in Tweek Bros Coffee’s French Roast, from the very first day your great-grandfather, Omega Tobias ‘Tweek’ Tweak, opened his first coffeehouse here in South Park, Colorado,” Richard said, smoothly. Everything that came out of his mouth sounded smooth and practiced, and Tweek hated it. If _he_ talked like that, maybe nobody would make fun of him anymore.  “Isn’t that right, son?”

“Hnnnnnnn,” Tweek replied, neither a yes, nor a no, not that it would’ve mattered either way.

“Now, you’re eleven years old. I feel like it’s time you learned a little bit more about how you were conceived.”

“Agh! Jesus, man, you _told_ me about this already,” Tweek screwed his face up in disgusted frustration “About the, _aghhh,_ the butts and the. _Gah,_ those, nnnn, those knot things? And... _Ugh._ ” He choked down another sip of coffee, which quickly turned into draining half of the cup in one large gulp. The harsh burning down his esophagus and the immediate full-body rush he felt were, if nothing else, a distraction from _this,_ from having to listen to something he did not want to hear, and did not fully understand.

Richard chuckled to himself, and used the carafe to fill up Tweek’s mug. “Have some more coffee, Tweek. It always calms you down. In fact, when I was pregnant with you, I relied on Tweek Bros Premium Blend to get me through a long day.”

No. _Nope._ That was enough already.

He choked down another swallow of that bitter, black drink, placing his hands on his lap. He had a habit of picking at the skin around his nails, and there was already a small tag of flesh that stuck out on his thumb, which he began to flick. It stung.

“Jesus, dad, aren’t, ah, aren’t you not supposed to have coffee when you’re pregnant?”

“Oh, just another one of those myths. How else do you think Harbucks is so successful with those sugary milkshake drinks?”

“The government, man!”

“That’s right,” crooned Richard, taking a long sip of his coffee, “Now, back when your mother and I met, there was this guy named Christopher, I think? Who had his sights on your mom. She was real beautiful, back then, remember? So, your mother…”

Spacing out mid-conversation - not that he could exactly call _this_ a conversation; it was more of a lecture, if anything, or simply another one of his father’s long, directionless stories - was nothing new to Tweek. Words like _Alpha_ and _presenting_ , phrases about his mother and their love, something about a heat or an estrus, and something about Craig - at this, he ripped off the tag of skin near his thumbnail, feeling a little trickle of blood because he wanted Craig left _out_ of this - were thrown about, calmly, by Richard while Tweek pretended to listen, trying to think about _something_ , about what they had for lunch, about what his mom was going to make for dinner, about something, _anything_ else, anything at all.

The banana in their fruit bowl was almost fully brown. That, he could focus on that, it was something unrelated to any of this _bullshit._ He tried to count the spots, but he couldn’t focus. He could feel his head twitching in little up and down jerks, which only made him move onto picking at his forefinger.

“And someday you’ll find a mate of your own. I think we already know who _that_ might be, hmm?” Richard’s smile never quite met his eyes. Just like his pats on the back, it felt like it was more out of necessity, like Richard was doing his bare minimum duty as a father.

 _“Dad,”_ Tweek groaned. Why couldn’t he just be a _dad?_ Why did he always have to _talk;_ why couldn’t he just _listen?_

“You’ll present as an Omega, hopefully soon, and you’ll carry on our rich family tradition, like generations before. And,” Richard said, eyes narrowing a bit, “Generations _after.”_

“After?”

“When you and Craig have children. Unless you’re not planning on having them?”

“I… Jesus, agghh!” Why the _hell_ was everyone talking about him having babies with Craig?

His father’s voice turned from a smooth croon into something sharp and sour. “Because if you aren’t, you’re going to have to figure something else-”

The door opened, and with the familiar clink of his mother hanging her keys upon their hook, the rustling of her taking off her shoes and jacket, Tweek felt his spirits lift, just a fraction. He hoped that his mother was having a Good Day and not a Bad one because if she was having a Bad Day she’d head upstairs to bed straight away, and he’d be stuck there and… _no,_ he didn’t want to have to listen to this shit all night again. His stomach was tied in knots, not from hunger because he was never hungry after he had that coffee, but from sheer dread.

“Hey, honey!”

“Richard.” His mother nodded at his father, giving him a quick glance. Her eyes were clear, her hair was carefully styled and her clothing put-together so today _had_ to be a Good Day. Tweek looked up at her with pleading eyes, and he could tell she understood. “Tweek! You’re back. How was school?”

“Tweek learned about sex at school today. But that’s ok. I told him the truth.”

“Richard,” his mom began, with a sigh, “You really don’t have to-”

“Mom? I don’t feel very good,” Tweek said, quickly. If they were going to fight, he didn’t want it to be in front of him again.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked, shooting a glare at her husband.

“My stomach hurts!” He said, tugging at his hair, “A-and. And then dad, ngh, dad said that… _Waaagh.”_

“Richard,” his mom snapped, “Richard, what did you tell him?”

“The truth.”

“No. You better stop doing -”

“I don’t _feel_ good, mom,” repeated Tweek, louder.

“Elizabeth,” said Richard with a cold grin, “It’s going to happen soon, I’m sure of it.”

“I told you it is _not appropriate,_ you’re scaring him.” She took Tweek by the hand, leading him to the staircase, ignoring Richard’s scoffing laugh. “Let’s get you upstairs, okay?”

She sat with him for a bit once she’d tucked him into bed, placing his mug of coffee on his bedside table. Her hands were cold, but she still checked his forehead and cheeks for fever, placing a kiss on his forehead once she’d determined that he was, in fact, fine.

“I’ll still love you, whatever you turn out to be,” Elizabeth said, sweetly, “Your dad, he…. _I’ll_ love you no matter what, Tweek.”

“Mom?” Tweek met her eyes again, and the look she gave him was one of pity, concern, and love. “I don’t think I wanna have babies with Craig, or, nnngh. Or with _anyone.”_

“You don’t have to have babies unless you want to. You don’t have to give it another thought until you’re older, and ready.”

“Ready?”

“You’ll know when you’re ready, and it has absolutely nothing to do with…” She sucked a breath of air in, through her teeth, letting it out slowly. “With your anatomy, whatever it’s going to be.”

“What if,” Tweek started to say, but stopped himself. There were far too many _what-if’s_ that he could spiral into; instead, he decided on asking, “Is dad mad at me?”

His mother tore her glance away, and looked at the door. There was something cold and vacant in her eyes, like she got when things were Bad. “Get some rest, sweetie,” she said.

“Can… can I have my phone? From downstairs? I left it at the table, I gotta, nnn, wanna text Craig.”

“Of course. Do you want something to eat?”

“I dunno,” replied Tweek, playing with a spare thread on his pillowcase. She’d surely bring him something anyway, even if he ended up unable to force himself to eat it. With a ruffle of Tweek’s hair, his mother left his room, shutting the door all the way behind her.

The ensuing argument between his parents downstairs, the scuffling of chairs, the softly muttered, then sharply snapped voices, the stomping of feet, was muffled by layers of wood and plaster, but Tweek didn’t try to make out what they were saying, anyway. There was no point to that; for months, or even years, Tweek wasn’t sure, he’d stopped trying to figure out what his parents would fight about, as their squabbling had become so frequent that it may as well have been background music, the theme song to his life at home.

Tweek stared at a water stain on his ceiling until his mother came back, with his phone and a plate of cheese, crackers, and apple slices, which she set next to his coffee. Since she sat herself in the same place as before, still stroking his hair, Tweek adjusted himself to half-seated and nibbled on the end of a cracker, if only as a thank you to his mom.

 _When you’re ready. If you want to. You don’t_ have _to._ Her words echoed in his brain.

“Mom?” he asked, quietly.

“Yes?”

“Did, agh. Did you and dad _want_ to have me?”

“Your father always wanted a child,” she enunciated, carefully. Her hand stilled for a moment, and her eyes fluttered shut, for but a second, until she nodded and found her voice again. “You’re the best thing that’s come from us being together. I can’t imagine a life without you in it, Tweekie.”

Tweek grunted at his mother’s use of his childhood nickname, what she called him when he was a little baby, but only when it was him and her, together without Richard. He was too old for that stuff now. Something was going to happen soon, something important, if anything his father said was true, and he couldn’t sit around being called _Tweekie_ if he was supposed to live up to those strange expectations, even if they were positively crushing him under their pressure.

With a hug, which Tweek returned, and a lingering, sad smile, his mother left.

There were several Twitter notifications from the White House and the FBI’s official Twitter, which Tweek chose to ignore in favor of the ribbon of text that read _Craig Tucker, text message_.

 _Are u ok_ , it read, from about an hour ago.

With wobbly fingers, Tweek tapped out a reply.

 _Yep_  
_Mom and dad are fighting again_  
_My dads bein weird  
I just wanted to play video games after school but he’s so weird_

Craig’s replies immediately lit up his screen.

 _Lol  
_ _Ik he’s always weird_

 

_Lol yeah_

_That was bs in class today_

 

 _Yea_  
_It was  
Can we talk about something else tho_

 

 _Ok  
_ _Tricia put Stripe in her dolls dress wanna see?_

 

_:D yeah!!!!_

 

Craig was always great at distracting him, and Stripe was as adorable as usual. Tweek tried to ignore the feeling in the back of his skull, almost like someone was watching him even though he _knew_ nobody was, it was just all of the expectations and weird _bullshit_ his dad put him through, all of the stupid crap he had to endure in school, that crept up behind him and wouldn’t leave him alone. He hadn’t wanted that coffee, either, and his heart was pounding against his ribcage, his phone screen shaking in his hands.

Even if it was far too early for bed, Tweek decided to stay there for the evening - not that he was going to sleep. He could never sleep, but his bed was a haven. His bed was where he could hide and wait it out until the twitches and the weird manic rush from the coffee subsided. He hoped that this time, it’d wane before morning, because a couple hours of rest would be better than _nothing._

It wouldn’t always be like this, would it? He wouldn’t always dread going to school, and dread going home even more, would he? Things would have to be better the next day, or, if not then, maybe _someday._

Wouldn’t they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a tumblr! @super-craig-is-gay is my main and @rachhells-lair is my NSFW blog


End file.
